


Panic Attack

by supernaturallylost



Series: Mental Health [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Sam Winchester, panic disorder/anxiety, tw suicidal thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernaturallylost/pseuds/supernaturallylost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every once in a while, Gabriel thinks about his past. The times his brothers betrayed him, the times he was driven away from peace by the violence of his family, the pain of being separated (even if by choice) from the people he loved, and the pressure of knowing that the people he loved had gone too far. When these thoughts come up, panic sets in, and there is only one person in the world that can make him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic Attack

“Sam, I love you, but if you don’t stop touching me, I will bite you.”

Sam raised his hands respectfully, smiled affectionately, and stepped back patiently. “I can do that. Are you gonna be alright? Do want some space?”

Gabriel sighed, clenching and unclenching his hands while gritting his teeth. “Yes. Give me an hour.”

Sam smiled and grabbed his keys. “Alright, Gabe, I’ll be back soon. Stay safe, kay?”

For a few moments after the door closed, Gabriel still clenched and unclenched his fists.

Occasionally this would happen. He hated it, and Sam knew he hated it, but it happened nonetheless.

Gabe sat in silence for a while, unwilling – and perhaps unable – to move. He sighed and breathed deeply, calming himself. He shook his hair out of his eyes, picked up a magazine, and stared blankly at the cover for a couple moments.

Eventually, the inevitable implosion occurred. Gabe clasped his hands tightly together and held them tight against his chest. He rocked against the couch from his seat on the floor. His head shivered, not from cold, but fear. He tensed and relaxed his muscles, he tried to concentrate on all of his senses individually.

 _Touch_. The callous of his thumbs and the smoothness of his wrists. The pattern of plaid on his shirt.

 _Sight_. The blue that was the back of his eyelids. The red when he turned toward the light.

 _Hearing_. The scratching of the couch fabric against his shirt. The heavy breaths coming out of his mouth.

 _Taste_. Mint gum pressed between his back teeth. Aftertaste of cola on the back of his tongue.

 _Smell_. The recently added garage sale coffee table that still smelled of smoke. Sam’s obsession with pauperize.

Though his senses helped to fend them off, the darker thoughts overcame. They rushed at him like wolves pouncing on their easy kill. He wondered how Sam could put up with him, predicted that Sam would stop putting up with him, regretted forcing Sam to deal with his panic and his problems, considered leaving before Sam came home, berated himself for thinking so selfishly, encouraged himself to be more gentle with himself, demanded that become more assertive and self-interested, remembered that he’d promised Sam to let him help, panicked that Sam was only being polite, scolded himself for even considering Sam would do that to him, doubted that Sam could really be so kind hearted without an angle, reprimanded himself again for doubting Sam, and accused himself of being inconsiderate and lazy.

‘No, no, no, no, no,’ he thought to himself.

‘Kill yourself,’ said the back of his mind.

Gabriel swallowed hard and tossed the magazine from his lap. He stood and froze. He looked blankly, innocently, absently throughout the room. He tried to take deep breaths, despite his constricted throat.

All of the sudden, exhaustion invaded his limbs, and he fell back against the couch. A few minutes of lying motionless on the couch later, he heard the door open.

Sam walked inside, dropped his keys at the stand by the door, and walked quietly over to the couch. When he saw Gabriel sprawled uncomfortably, tensely, brokenly on the couch, he knelt down on the floor beside him. He picked up a magazine that had found its way to the floor and placed it on the table. He sat with his hip against the couch, where he could face Gabe and use the couch as an armrest.

Before he said anything, Sam looked Gabe once over to make sure he was physically okay. Then he looked him in the eyes and smiled lightly.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered. “Can I hold your hand?”

Gabe nodded, and Sam reached forward to grasp his hand like a lifeline. He stroked the back of it with his thumb and looked down.

“Do you want to talk?” Sam asked quietly, giving Gabe privacy by not looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” Gabe responded, clutching Sam’s hand tighter. “I’m sorry.”

Sam shook his head, turned compassionately, and wrapped his other hand around Gabe’s.

“It’s okay to feel sorry,” Sam said gently, “but can I tell you how I feel?”

Gabe nodded, tears welling up in his eyes.

“I feel so proud,” he whispered, his eyes smiling. He leaned forward and gently kissed Gabe’s hand. “I am so proud of you, Gabe.”

“I’m losing the fight,” he shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I should be better by now. I should be strong enough to be better by now.”

Sam squeezed Gabe’s hand.

“This isn’t a fight. There is no winning or losing. This is an ocean. The tide comes in and the tide goes out. When it comes in, you just have to do a little swimming, that’s all. You’re doing so well, Gabe.”

“I should be doing better,” he mumbled, tears falling down his chin and neck.

“What are you comparing yourself to, Gabe? Who else has ever gone through _exactly_ what you have and done better than you?  How can you judge how you should be feeling?”

“You’ve gone through worse,” Gabe nodded, looking away from Sam’s steady gaze. “You’ve gone through worse and you don’t ever feel like this.”

Sam shook his head and leaned forward to kiss Gabe’s hand again.

“Baby, there is no better or worse way to experience pain. Your pain and mine are very different, and that doesn’t make yours any lesser or greater than mine.”

Gabe sighed and tugged Sam’s hand. Sam stood slowly as Gabe turned, freeing half of the couch. Gently, Sam sat down and wrapped his arms around the dearest person in his life. Gabe rested his head on Sam’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, baby,” Sam said. “You’re safe, and you are so, so loved.”

Stroking Gabe’s hair, Sam took deep breaths for Gabe to match. Soon, their breathing was synchronized.

“I’m so proud of you,” Sam whispered again.

“I thought you’d be mad,” Gabe mumbled against Sam’s shirt. “I thought you might have thought you could fix me. After a whole year, I thought you’d have given up.”

Sam kissed the top of Gabe’s head. “There’s nothing to fix because you’re not broken. You’re beautiful, Gabe. This is just high tide for you. It will go back down, and it will come back up, and no matter what, I will be here for you. I love you, Gabriel.”

Gabe closed his eyes tightly.

 _Touch_. The rough stiffness of Sam’s new jeans. The warmth of Sam’s breath above his head.

 _Sight_. The dirt stuck to Sam’s shoe. The magazine set perfectly in line with the edges of the table.

 _Hearing_. The friction of Sam’s hand against his arm. Sam’s heartbeat.

 _Taste_. Salty tears on his lips. Now flavorless gum in the back of his mouth.

 _Smell_. Sam wrapped tightly around him. Sam’s obsession with pauperize.

“I love you, too,” Gabe said, reaching for Sam’s hand to hold. Slowly, Gabe drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on how I react to my depression and anxiety, and I know that it's not the same for everyone. Feel free to share your own experiences or thoughts. Be safe, guys.


End file.
